


Ornstein & Smough

by Leopold



Category: Dark Souls, Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Backstory, Brotherhood, Death, Gen, Headcanon, No Romance, Other, Past Relationship(s), life - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopold/pseuds/Leopold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The backstory and relationship that caused the unlikely pair to die side by side in the halls of Anor Londo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ornstein & Smough

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own personal headcannon, as there is no real backstory to these two, aside from the small amount of lore found with their items in game. Inspired by the fact that Ornstein seems to show remorse during the fight if Smough falls first.

Ornstein & Smough

To think, his misfortune must be endless. To return to the city of Anor Londo, the last of his allies, and be entrusted to guard the Princess of Sunlight. This itself would be a great honor, but there was a catch. There was always a catch.  
“Well well, look who it is.” A voice that was gruff and gravelly echoed around the massive columned hall. Ornstein turned to see the hulking, bulbous, and rather ridiculous (in his own opinion) armor of none other than the executioner.  
“Smough.” Ornstein said, giving a slight bow when he saw him. “It has been long, has it not?” Smough approached slowly, somewhat hindered by his incredibly thick, metal suit. The executioner set down his hammer and reached up to the long neck-piece of the armor, detaching it to remove it. A battered, human face greeted him, looking rather out of place with the massive set of armor. The years had not been kind to the man. His face had scars and stories written all over it. His black hair cut short now that he constantly wear the helmet. When Ornstein did not remove his helmet in return Smough scowled angrily.  
“It is usually customary to show your face to an old friend.” He said darkly, still coming closer, the helmet held under one arm. The executioner stood much taller than himself, even if he were to not wear the bulky metal, but Ornstein feared no man. He had stood against dragons and drakes of massive caliber and bested every single one. A large man with a large hammer was nothing special in his eyes.  
“I prefer to act like a knight while I stand guard. What are you doing in this hall?” Ornstein saw Smough heft his hammer, possibly expecting the question.  
“Well, friend,” He said it in a voice that was rather jaded, “I am guarding over our dear princess too. A little hard to execute people when over half the city turned undead now.” At this Ornstein turned to look at him.  
“What?” Smough only gestured with his hammer, no easy task for a man of any proportion.  
“Yeah, surely you knew, the land is somewhat overrun with them by now.” Ornstein tightened his grip on his trusted spear.  
“I was told of no such 'help', Smough. Besides, I am all the dear Lady needs.” He stated sharply. Smough simply grinned, his teeth stained dark and ground thin over the years, most likely due to his nasty habit, the same that stopped him from being a knight like Ornstein.  
“You are the same man you were the day you left for the great hunt. Arrogant, big-headed, cold, and of course, heartless.” Smough grunted as he crouched low to transfer the weight of his armor.  
“Coming from the executioner who slaughtered hundreds a day and kept half for his supper? I think I can live with that.” Ornstein stated, planting his spear firmly into the smooth floor as he faced off with the larger man. Ornstein's golden lion-like armor clinked as he turned. Smough's face had darkened considerably.  
“Sometimes I really feel like flattening you and having that arrogant tone turn to a plea for mercy.” Smough stood and walked forward, his hammer left behind on the ground. Ornstein stood there and watched as he approached. He seemed like he was ready to tear Ornstein's head off, and for a man like Smough it was entirely possible were he to grab the knight. He stopped, however, a foot away, extending his left hand in a greeting. “But I know you would not go down without a fight, brother.” Ornstein paused at this, Smough being so formal was a rarity, especially without his usual malice.  
Ornstein took his left hand and shook it. For a brief moment, Smough smiled slightly before gritting his teeth and tightening his grip on Ornstein's hand. Quickly spinning around, he flung Ornstein across the room with his sheer strength. The knight sailed across the room, horribly unprepared. He landed awkwardly, rolling to avoid a flat out fall from the powerful heave of the executioner.  
“You are a barbarian!” Ornstein shouted, whirling around with his spear ready, only to see Smough walking the other way, hammer on one shoulder, his helm under the other. The meta-human paused at the comment and replied without even turning to face him.  
“I guess we both are then. You just refuse to admit to yourself that you are one.” With that, Smough walked into the next room, the archway he walked under still echoing with the heavy thud of the large man. His absence left the room colder than it previously was. Ornstein sighed and sat down against one of the pillars. He flexed his hand, the pain not ebbing for awhile. Smough had no restraint in his throw, probably due to his rough nature. He always had a tough personality, even when he was younger. For whatever reason, Ornstein lay his head back against the pillar and began to reminisce about their past.

They had met where most children do, and how most children do, completely randomly and in some unorthodox place, perhaps with different circumstances however. He remembered finding Smough in the ruins of their town, a local boy who had survived alongside him. The small, nameless town had no significance or great value in the land. It was erased by one of the many dragons that tormented the realm. Ornstein was in the fields with his father when the fire blew into the town. He watched in horror as the small village seemed to burst to life with sound and light, then all at once the sound of people was replaced with dragon wings and the crackling of flame. His father hurried him away and into the outskirts of the land, a wide and thick woodland that surrounded their village. He left Ornstein the horse and told the boy to wait until it was safe. His father began to run back to the burning town. Ornstein attempted to follow, but his father turned back and yelled, keeping his son safe was just as important as finding his mother. The boy went back to sit at the base of a tree, young compared to the woodland around it. He watched as the dragon circled back several times. He realized that the beast was hunting, playing, enjoying his time marauding a defenseless town. Ornstein became angry at this and began to take darkness into his heart. Hate and malice toward the flying reaper that was plaguing the town he called home. He watched in a sick obsession as the dragon circled more, still finding victims in the ashes. After maybe an hour or more the dragon flew off. His father had not returned, and like an obedient son, he waited.

It was night when the boy woke. The horse had wandered away, unaware of the demise that filled the air. He scowled at the beast, he trusted them only as far as he could throw them. He stood and saw embers glowing where he knew the town to be. He felt hungry and they had no time to bring food, so he was without. The dragon had not returned, so it must be safe, he reasoned. Ornstein set off toward the glow at a slow pace. Hoping to come across his father, but not to at the same time. He progressed slowly, the silence of night weighing down on him. Never before was the village this quiet. No crickets were chirping, no frogs or toads croaking, absolutely nothing. He noticed some cattle wandering the fields. He half expected the farmers and owners to return and take them back, but none came. The stillness was numbing. When he reached the first houses he almost turned back immediately. Outside were several charred corpses of the farming family that had resided there. He didn't think too hard about it, in case he were to recall who they were. Ornstein continued forward, only faltering if there were someone lying in his path. Sometimes he tried to pretend they were asleep, as the light was poor and many of the embers almost extinguished. The air was thick with smoke and a sickening smell of burnt flesh. If he hadn't worked with the slop feed for the pigs he surely would have been sick.  
Ornstein almost called out many times, wanting to yell for anyone at all. It wasn't until later he realized he was terrified at the thought of disturbing anyone nearby who may be half alive still on the ground. He about turned back, he believed he had every right to avoid this horrible sight, but he continued, he could not be alone, someone else must have survived the dragon. When a building nearby him broke and spewed ash and ember into the air he took a step back before he heard a small cry out for help. The noise was pitiful and young. He started at a jog, looking around and he took a deep breath, ready to yell but the smoke got into his lungs and he began coughing, only getting out a soft call. The nearby sound stopped and a shuffling in the ash could be heard. Cracking wood and another strangled cry before the words,  
“I am here...” came out of the gloom. Ornstein began looking frantically. Going close and scouring each house, trying to find the voice, and hopefully the person attached.  
“I cannot find you!” Ornstein said, starting to get desperate. He started to dig, the embers still hot in some places, burning his hands and legs. There came a low groan of pain and Ornstein paused to look around. The creaking he heard came from just a few feet away. The voice was strained as it called out now.  
“Get this wood off me...” It pleaded. Ornstein rushed over and grabbed the wooden beam that was moving up and down from the effort of someone below. He heaved with all his weight, barely moving the wood. It was enough, and another arm burst forth from the ash, grey and red from the cinders. The hand gripped the beam and thrust it forward, moving it much more quickly than it was. It was almost easily tossed once the second hand was added. Rising up from the ashes was a boy, as large as Ornstein, but he knew this boy to be younger than he. The boy looked at him with gratitude as Ornstein asked him,  
“Are you alright?” He offered his hand to the boy, pulling him to his feet. Both cringed at the burns on their hands. As he stood he turned and Ornstein could see live embers on his exposed skin on his neck and back. He reached to brush them off but the boy whirled around with a frightened expression.  
“Do not touch me! It burns, do not touch it you shall only make it worse!” Ornstein looked down and saw that he had been lying in a hotbed of embers, many still orange and bright. He looked in awe at the boy before him, only able to imagine the pain he had endured.  
“Are you alright?” He repeated, now seeing much of his chest was burned, along with his back where he had been lying. The boy made a face and stretched painfully, not replying. “I am Ornstein,” he said, trying to be formal. “I was a farmer's boy. Have you seen anyone else around here?” He was still trying to be hopeful in this time of despair, but that hope was quickly failing him.  
“I am called Smough. I was the butcher's boy.” He said solemnly. “Was. And no,” he turned to Ornstein, “I've been looking up at the sky, within that horrid furnace. I have not seen a soul, except for you. And thank you, you could have left me there to burn and rot.” Smough shook himself of as much ash as he could, not using his left hand much and being very careful not to touch himself anywhere.  
Ornstein shook his head. “No, I could not have. I could never have left anyone.” Smough looked at Ornstein, admiration played across his face. The look changed to curiosity and disbelief when he noticed Ornstein's clothing.  
“Are you burned?” He asked in amazement, seeing not a scratch on his savior. Ornstein did not pause.  
“No, I was in the field. My father took me away, knowing he could not stop the beast. I waited for him like he said, but when he did not return I decided to come help.” At this, Smough looked at him.  
“You are brave, I shall give you that.” he said somberly. “Tis just a shame more could not walk away from this.” The town was silent now. Only the creaking of charred wood remained now.  
“We should go to the river.” Ornstein suggested. “There we will have something to drink and wash ourselves.” Smough nodded but couldn't hold back a comment.  
“I would rather have something to eat.” And Ornstein agreed wholeheartedly.

Nearly a day had passed and the two had quickly become close. After washing himself, Smough could see the extent of his burns. They reached from his chest and sides to a majority of his back, down almost all of his left arm and reaching upward at his neck like a claw at his throat, as if the dragon had reached for it with its own fire. They sat at the river, drinking when they needed to, unsure of what to do next. Eventually, it was Smough who broke the silence.  
“I shall be back soon.” He said and walked away. Ornstein called back to him.  
“Where are you going?” Smough didn't reply and continued on his path back to the village. Later he returned with a small amount of cooked meat on a partially burnt flat of wood, that may have once served as a table or a door.  
“Here. We need to eat.” He said quietly.  
“Smough... where did you find this?” Ornstein asked amazed, the meat looking cooked perfectly.  
“I was the butcher's son, remember?” He said, trying to end the discussion.  
“But where did you find the animal?” At this, Smough looked down and bit his lip. His refusal to speak said everything Ornstein needed, but didn't want to hear. “You didn't. T-that isn't...?”  
“We have to eat.” Was all Smough said in a quiet and pained tone.  
“I was the butcher's son!” He repeated with tears in his eyes. “We have to eat something.” As Smough picked up some, Ornstein turned away in shock and disgust.  
“I cannot! I simply cannot do that Smough. I shall find another way.” Ornstein then stood and left the reluctant cannibal, walking down to the stream to watch the waters.  
“We have no tools to fish, Ornstein, we need-” he began.  
“Would you stop that. I shall not use tools then.” He grabbed a sturdy branch that had fallen from a nearby tree. “If I stab hard enough I can impale a fish, or at least strike it, but I won't resort to that, not now, not ever!” With an anger behind his words and his movement, he thrust his makeshift spear into the water, catching one by piercing its body and hitting another hard enough to get a second swimming away injured. He stormed back and showed his companion the fish.  
“It's raw.” Smough said, “I shant eat it raw, I shall get sick.”  
“Then you eat what you want and I will too.”

Later, at night the two lie there. A long silence had formed between the two over their choice of food. Ornstein had gotten sick from the raw fish, but had refused anything else that Smough offered. It was Smough who broke the silence.  
“Are you going to be mad at me forever? I understand why you would hate me, but we are brothers now. We need to survive. And I want something, Or.” He said, looking up at the sky. “I want to kill dragons.” Ornstein opened an eye.  
“You are fourteen years, you cannot hunt a dragon.” Smough shook his head, unsure if his companion even saw.  
“No, I want to when I am strong. I want to slay them like they do us, by the dozens. They took everything from us, everything. And they have no reason to. Does that not boil your blood?” Ornstein closed his eyes.  
“It makes me furious. I despise dragons. They deserve nothing short of a swift beheading and their heart torn from their bodies.” Smough smiled at this.  
“Then promise me here. Let us make a pact that we will make them pay. For every town they burn, ten score shall fall.” Ornstein nodded again, falling asleep. “Or?” Smough asked, looking at his companion. “We need to be brothers to do that. I need you to help me. Please forgive me.”  
“Aye,” Ornstein replied softly. “I forgive you. And we will do that. 'Till we cannot stand on our own two feet, brother.”

Just a day later a group of knights arrived at the village, finding the boys scavenging the ashes, Ornstein sick and worse for the wear. At once they recognized Lord Gwyn's faithful soldiers. They pleaded to be taken back to the great city, become knights, and join the hunt. They were from no nobility, but their survival of the dragon had given them merit. Lord Gwyn was kind, and allowed them to be trained. Ornstein favored the spear, finding the weapon comfortable and fitting. Smough found both sword and blade too reminiscent to his life as a butcher. He acquired a liking for the war-hammer. Ornstein dedicated his time and energy entirely to training, rarely spending a free minute elsewhere. Smough was quite different. Smough would take the spare time to increase his strength, rather than form. He grew even larger, nearly on par with many of the giants of the city. He became friendly with them, and in turn had many humans in the guard turn him away due to his intimidating stature. Many teachers would turn him down as well, not wanting to risk possible injury in training such a large man. Smough like this, and began plans with his giant companions to develop a new armor, wanting to seem even larger than he was.  
Smough had a darker side, however. His constant rejection from tutors of warfare had left him with outstandingly slim opportunities to learn more, and took on an apprenticeship with the executioner. His size made it possible for many of the prisoners to stop resisting, fearing worse injury. The executioner was a fine teacher himself, but made the mistake of letting Smough dispose of the remains of the victims, often times alone. It was rumored that he would have some of the bodies for himself to eat. At first, Ornstein did not believe it at all, but the more he thought about it the less he would defend his companion.  
The day eventually came that Gwyn said he was preparing for war. War against the dragons. Knights had been competing for weeks to be one of his chosen, a few that would be given a higher status, that Gwyn himself would make more powerful than any other man. That was the rumor, at least. To fight alongside Gwyn was an honor many of them would take, power or not. Everyone was gathered at the main hall, the time had come. Gwyn came forth, his daughters at his side. Lines had formed in the ranks and Gwyn now walked through them with a silence that only the King of Sunlight could make menacing. He looked left to right, all the helmets of the knights had been removed to salute their Lord. After another moment of searching his gaze fell upon Ornstein, he approached and Ornstein fell to a knee. A mighty hand lay itself on his shoulder and he was beckoned to stand.  
“You. You put forth more faith in our cause than any other I have seen. More effort than any other knight I have watched. You have a fire in your soul that cannot be quenched, and you have more defiance to these beasts of power than any other living person, even myself. You will be the captain of my honored few, Ornstein. As captain, you shall have a symbol of honor. I grant you this.” Lord Gwyn pulled forth a golden spear with two crossbars near the tip. “Your new spear. Your symbol of power will be mighty enough to fell the largest beast, and it is the vessel of my lightening.” For emphasis he stamped the spear, creating a burst of sparks and an electric charge that itself had a force. Ornstein did not waver, even being right in front of the blast. “The fact that you remain sturdy after that is only more proof for me.” He stated proudly.  
“Thank you, my lord.” Ornstein knelt before him, accepting the gift thankfully, his face not smiling. This was not a reason to show pride.  
“As for the rest of my honored men,” He announced, turning to them. “My new captain shall assist me in determining who will be among them.” Ornstein fought the urge to look at Smough, knowing him to be just a few feet to the left. He did not want his friend to see the look of shock on his face. “You shall be granted nothing for pleading and begging, only by real prowess and a genuine faith shall you be allowed to join this man.”  
“Thank you, my lord.” Ornstein repeated. Gwyn looked back to his new captain.  
“You shall have time to choose and prepare. Only when you have chosen will I grant all of you your final gifts.” With that, he walked back and the counsel was dismissed. The room seeming to dim as Gwyn and his daughters left. Ornstein nearly ran from the hall he was moving so fast. He needed to avoid Smough at all costs. Amid the hundreds of faces trying to congratulate him he heard the heavy steps of his friend hurrying through the crowd.  
“Brother!” He called, a hearty laugh escaping his massive chest. “Slow yourself, Dragonslayer!” He yelled with another chuckle. Ornstein paused and Smough quickly overtook him, many moving out of the large man's way, his laughing now filling the air. His large hand patted Ornstein's shoulder. “Congratulations! I am quite proud of where you have gotten. It feels like it was an eternity ago that we had found each other in that forsaken town. I am so glad we can finally see our dream come to life.”  
Before Smough could say more Ornstein interrupted. “Are the rumors true?” Ornstein demanded, afraid to look at his friend. It was Smough's turn to pause.  
“What rumors?” Smough asked with a dark voice.  
“People say you have been... cannibalizing the prisoners. Smough, brother. I need to know if you continued that dark ritual after that horrid day.” Smough did not answer for awhile. Many knights had passed, not many interfering with the two, knowing how strong the bond between them was.  
“What people say-”  
“Do not avoid the question!” Ornstein demanded again, this time looking at him. “I deserve to know!” Smough looked wounded. He opened his mouth, struggling for words.  
“Or... can we talk somewhere else?” He pleaded, starting to show his worry on his face and in his posture.  
“Then tis true.” Ornstein said, more to himself than anyone else.  
“Or...” Smough tried once more. “Or, wait just a moment.”Ornstein gripped his spear angrily, feeling the sturdy weapon in his hand.  
“You do not understand! You have soiled it!” Ornstein looked into Smough's pained eyes, the larger man showing fear and regret as his smaller friend approached. “This was not supposed to be me alone! You were supposed to accompany me! Supposed to hunt by my side! Our Lord Gwyn would never allow a cannibal among his ranks! Your sick habit has caused you to never be chosen! You are not honorable as you once were!” Smough stopped retreating, and Ornstein froze. Smough's head hung low for awhile and Ornstein realized what he had said, and for a second thought of taking it back. He was cut off as Smough's voice killed any chance for an apology.  
“You are right. I am a cannibal. A man-eater. I am a monster, a glutton. I am weak and dishonorable.” His voice rose, as did his head. A burning anger flared in his soul, leaking through his eyes and seething from his words. “I am cruel, and heartless. Loveless and spiteful. Horrid and bulbous!” His fists clenched tight enough to turn white. “I shall never be as magnificent as you, Or! That is why I am strong! I shall crush you if it came right down to it! I shall kill you if I hear your voice again. I cannot hunt dragons, no! You say I am not worthy!  
“You say I cannot, well I say Ishall hunt a different way. Forget being a knight! Honor? To the depths with that. I shall become the more feared than any dragon. I shall become the cruelest executioner that will ever have been spawned in this life or the next!” Now his face was red as his anger pumped through his veins. “Cannabalism will only fuel my spite. And have mercy on your soul Ornstein the Dragonslayer,” He spat the words with a venom on his breath. “if I ever find you at my chopping block!” For the last words he nearly screamed them, his muscular form pressing tightly against his ill-fitting armor, his breath laborious, trying to contain his rage. Ornstein had witnessed Smough's anger before, but never had he born the brunt of it.  
“Smough.” Ornstein began.  
“Do not speak to me Ornstein. You are no longer welcome in my presence. Do not approach me from the point onward. Any chivalry between us is dead. I am no longer your brother. Farewell, Dragonslayer. Enjoy thy hunt.” Smough spat, literally this time, before walking away. Ornstein stood there, defeated. He knew he had destroyed the friendship with the man that was his companion. He hung his head for a minute, feeling a creeping darkness of sorrow touch at his heart. He then heard the familiar clink of armor as someone approached, a hand touching his shoulder, much softer than his massive counterpart.  
“Are you alright?” The voice asked in a calm tone. Ornstein raised his head, trying to hold back his emotions to see a woman knight in brass armor standing before him.  
“Yes, I am quite alright. He could have killed me, or at the very least broken my neck, and he did neither.” Ornstein stated blankly, rather hollow sounding.  
“A broken heart hurts worse than a broken back.” She stated simply, offering a sincere look to him. Ornstein's eyes blinked a few times, fighting back tears and he quickly took a knee.

“My deepest apologies, my Lady. I did not think before speaking.” She only smiled at this. The Lady of Darkling was merciful after all.  
“Stand, great Ornstein, as you will do many great deeds. Do not treat me if you were inferior any longer, as you are not. We are equals now. You have great struggles ahead of you, brave knight. Know that when you choose your companions you lay your own life in their arms. And,” She continued, a small smirk on her lips. “When you do return, as I know you will, you are always welcome to join me at my bonfire. Even a gatekeeper requires repose.” 

Ornstein choose his knights. Artorias, with his faithful ally, Sif. Ciaran, the Lord's trusted assassin. Gough, the giant who could use a bow better than any creature dead, alive, or undead. The Lord Gwyn gave each of them gifts. Armor for the four knights, each fitted for their needs. He also gifted rings to each of them. The wolf for Artorias, the hornet for Ciaran, the hawk for Gough, and the lion for Ornstein. They hunted many beasts, and eventually grew to find more purpose. Artorias took the weight of the Abyss into his hands to guard the light from the dark. Ciaran chose to keep her job as assassin, often staying with Artorias on his adventures. It was Ornstein and Gough who ceaselessly hunted the dragons.  
Elsewhere, Smough was brooding. His designs for his executioner's armor had changed drastically. He now wanted to look even larger, bulkier, more menacing and grotesque.  
“Add a face to the top, with an exceptionally long neck.” He demanded. The giant blacksmiths could craft anything. He designed a new war-hammer, absolutely massive, larger than any mere man could handle. He grew cold and dark. He often kept to himself and took his job with all the joy in the world. He laughed when he would see someone struggling at the block far below at his feet. He decided that as his job as the Royal executioner, it was his right to choose his weapon of choice. He used his massive hammer for his executions. As the one in charge, he now chose freely what to do with his victims and began using them in all meals, openly. He was known famously as the gleeful executioner. The city feared him, and outlaws grimaced at the thought of being at the cruel man's feet.

Smough's hammer slammed down beside Ornstein, waking and startling him. He leapt to his feet about to strike when Smough grabbed his arm.  
“Sleeping on the job? Not quite honorable for a soldier.” He said to him. Something in his voice had changed, it was less threatening, calmer. In a serious tone he talked to Ornstein. “Something has come to the forsaken city of Anor Londo. I saw the demons carry something over the walls and into the city.” Ornstein relaxed and looked at Smough. His helm was on and he was looking off in the distance. “For some reason I fear something, Dragonslayer. I have had a premonition of death.” He knelt down and was almost eye level with Ornstein. “I have seemed to calmed my anger after all these years. I know now that you were just in your choice. I am still a cruel man, and I will answer for my sins in due time, but for now, I must beg your forgiveness. I was angered and had a reason to despise everyone, not just you. Or.” He said, some emotion returning to his voice.  
“Smough, no. I would have had you come. It was our lord, Gwyn. He said I was to choose the warriors who would be best fit, your cannibalism I realized later was not your own doing. Had I dined with you that day I too would have continued. I blame you not, brother.” Ornstein replied, bowing before his friend.  
“Do not think for a second that I have gone soft though.” Smough said, using an arm to push Ornstein out of his bow. “Unfortunately, my heart and my tongue still lust for blood. So let us see if we can have a meal after we take care of this invader.” Smough slammed his hammer once more for emphasis. “Place the barrier, Ornstein. After this invader comes in I do not want him to run in fear from seeing out might.” Smough held out his hand to his companion.  
“Aye,” Ornstein said, “Till we cannot stand on our own two feet. And Smough? If I ever fall before you, do not wait till I am broken and bleeding on the ground. I want you, the only man I would trust for this, to finish the task. Leave me with the honor of my title.” At this Smough paused.  
“And I want you to use my death as fuel for your might, anger and power to destroy anyone before us. Do not let them take another life after mine.” Ornstein laughed, heartily and loudly.  
“You say that like either of us will even falter!” Smough laughed at this too, the sound echoing though the room. That was when the fighting reached their ears.  
“Some of the silver knights must be having a go at the intruder.” Smough said, the cries of several knights could be heard, as well as the clash of swords and shields.  
“I have to warn the fair Lady!” Ornstein realized, rushing to the moving platform that led to the chamber of the princess. Smough heaved his hammer and followed for a bit, calling after him.  
“Come back soon! Wouldn't want you to miss the brawl!” He turned and steadied his hammer, waiting as Ornstein rushed into Gwynevere's chamber. The fog gate that kept the room from prying eyes was as murky as ever. Smough thought he saw someone several times, and when a knight actually did walk through, he paused, unable to believe that someone would so boldly stride in before him. The man's gaze fell on Smough. He must have thought him a statue because he gave a start and quickly readied his shield and broadsword. Ornstein rushed back to the balcony, peering over to see the invader. Wanting to waste no time, he threw himself over the balcony, landing heavily beside Smough. “Show off.” Smough muttered.  
“He is one of the cursed.” Ornstein said to Smough, readying his spear.  
“Then make sure he cannot walk any more.” Smough demanded, giving his terrifying executioner's laugh as the two rushed headlong into the fray. Ornstein pushed ahead, spear forward as he thrust at the man. He parried and side-stepped, trying to avoid both him and the gleeful executioner. Smough lowered his hammer and rushed forward, the metal grinding the ground below it. At the last second, he turned slightly, his headlong charge turning into a mighty swing and catching the knight off guard, sending him soaring across the room with a sickening thud against the wall. The knight ragdolled, completely motionless for a time. It took a moment for him to recover, but by then Ornstein was ready. He used his spear to create a bolt of lightening, throwing it past Smough. The knight dove and evaded the javelin of light. Ornstein cursed and threw another, this one slamming into one of the columns. Still laughing as he went, Smough kept swinging at the undead knight. The invader took a swing himself and caught Smough in a chink on the side, but it was not enough to even phase the giant man as he swung again and again. He was slower, the knight outpacing his huge form, but Smough could crush the columns if he attempted to use them as cover. Ornstein leapt across the room, his lightening keeping him moving at a breakneck pace.  
“This time, together.” Ornstein said, readying his spear. “Go. Now!” Ornstein started at a trot, keeping pace with Smough's mighty charge. The undead knight readied himself this time, waiting for them. Ornstein let out a roar of anger, Smough laughing again as they rush. Smough swung high, Ornstein low, his spear thrusting forward to meet the knight as his brother's hammer swung. The knight lunged-

 

Smough Falls

-around the hammer, getting to the side opposite of Ornstein. He thrust his broadsword through the chink he found earlier, the sword connecting and Smough letting out a pained roar. He dropped to one knee and before Ornstein could rush around his massive hammer the knight thrust again at his neck. His roar became a gurgle ad Ornstein stabbed at the knight with his spear, nearly screaming in shock and panic.  
“No!” He yelled as the larger man fell. His spear connected and invader leapt away, retreating a distance away. Smough hit the ground with a mighty slam, he knew he was finished when his hammer fell from his grip. Ornstein faltered and placed his hand on his friend's chest as he lie there. He bowed his head in sorrow, feeling the pain of the many years of loss between them. That same sorrow burned with a mighty fire, turning to rage. He clenched his fist, using his spear to take any power he could from his fallen ally, as he knew he would have wanted, feeding off Smough's own dark soul. He grew in size, his energy doubled from the amount absorbed through his spear. He swung around to face the knight in a blind fury. Ceaselessly he approached, swinging his spear and attacking, holding nothing back. He stabbed at the invader and tried to stomp on him, now being even larger than Smough was. He roared again, sounding more like the lion armor he wore, determined to avenge his companion.  
That was when he got sloppy. He swung too far and the knight rolled right up to his feet, cutting at his legs and catching the left one. Ornstein came to one knee and swiped again, still yelling in anger, his mask hiding the tears that came down his face. He cried as he fought, anger, fury, pain, sorrow. He felt all of them. Everything all at once as he grieved for his brother. His attacks slowed and the invader took his chance, plunging his blade up and into Ornstein's armor, the broadsword piercing his chest. He twisted mercilessly before pulling away and leaping a short distance off. Ornstein held his wound with a hand, falling down and feeling himself begin to fade.  
“I have failed thee, brother. I have failed thee, my fair Lady.” Ornstein lay there, his heart slowing, losing more blood every second it moved. “Perhaps, you can forgive me. I have made ill on my promise brother. Forgive me. I shall not be accompanying you at your fire this evening.” He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling exhausted, more than he ever had before. For just a moment, he thought maybe he saw Smough standing beside him, and with him, Ornstein's faithful three. At this thought, he smiled.  
“Sorry to keep you all waiting. It has been awhile, no? We can rest now, friends. Our days of fighting have come to an end. Now, we are done.” And they were. Done at last.

Ending #1

 

Ornstein Falls

-to the side, avoiding the hammer and running beside Ornstein's spear, rushing up to shove his shield edge into his helm, crushing the mouth on the lion that adorned it. He quickly followed with a slash at the exposed area: Ornstein's neck. Before either of the two could react he continued his rush past them, putting distance between the two warriors.  
For a moment, no one moved. Ornstein coughed, red starting down the front of his armor. Smough turned in horror.  
“Or!” He approached, hand outstretched for his friend. Ornstein pushed him away and turned, coughing more as he stumbled forward toward the knight. “Or, slow down a bit.” He didn't and tried to take another step forward before falling to his knees. He gave a whispered phrase before coughing again, breathing heavily. “What?” Smough asked, confused and afraid. “What did you say?”Ornstein whispered louder.  
“Till we cannot stand on our own two feet. Right, brother?” He said. His spear fell at his feet. Smough knew what he wanted. Smough knew what he was asking. Ornstein was done, and he wanted his last wished fulfilled by the hands of his own friend. Smough hefted his hammer, his heartbeat sped up, increasing with his fear, but his voice was calm.  
“Good luck to you, Dragonslayer Ornstein. May the next life treat you better than the first.” He brought it down with a thunderous smash. At the end, he swore he saw his friend smiling, arms outstretched to the north, where his true Lady belong, waiting for his return. Smough gagged and fought back his sorrow. This was the first execution he was having trouble walking away from. His hammer lay atop his broken companion and suddenly came to life. The metal now alight with sparks and energy. Smough looked with awe. Ornstein lived on. Lived on through his own mighty hammer. His sorrow evolved, taking on a new form. Pride was in his heart. He felt his malice melt to forgiveness, his sorrow and loss forgotten. He lifted his hammer and averted his eyes, not wanting to see his friend.  
“He is still fighting.” Smough said to himself, swinging his hammer powerfully. He looked to the invader, glaring him down. The foreigner who had no right to gaze upon the moment of weakness for the two warriors. No longer did Smough laugh at the battle. Now he would take his job seriously. He charged as he did before, wanting to crush this foe, destroy this enemy, hunt this last dragon with his brother in hand. He swung at the knight with his imbued hammer. The undead knew his speed and range and was able to easily avoid Smough's merciless assault. He slammed his hammer where the knight previously stood, missing entirely, but a jolt of electricity struck him, knocking him off his guard.  
“Now I have you!” Smough roared, bringing his hammer down once again. He felt a satisfying crunch of metal and smiled with pride. However, it was short lived. The knight appeared around the hammer, rushing toward him. Smough was amazed until he saw the knight had no shield and that his left arm was rather motionless at his side. The undead swung at his arms and Smough pulled away, leaving his hammer in the shock of the moment. With a cry of determination and hope, the knight rushed Smough. The giant man stomped at the knight, angry to be separated from the gift his brother had left him. The knight slashed at Smough's armor, the thick metal holding steady. Smough rushed to get past, needing his hammer. Quickly, the knight took out his legs, making the large man fall to his stomach, this arms still outstretched to his hammer.  
“Ornstein...” He begged, reaching for the handle. Far too late, as the knight plunged his blade into Smough's exposed back. Now he had one foot in the grave. He pulled himself forward, the handle just out of his reach. “So close.” He panted, breathing suddenly hard now. A hand reached down as he lay there, settling on his own. Ornstein's gold, armored hand lay atop Smough's.  
“You gave it your all, brother. The most important part of dragon slaying is knowing when you are outnumbered. You have been so brave, but our battle is done now. Time to go.” Smough looked, seeing the impossible image of his ally knelt beside him. He beckoned him to stand and suddenly Smough could. For a moment he reached for his hammer again, but Ornstein stopped him. “No need for that, brother.” He continued walking. Smough followed his friend as they passed through the white, fog gate. He didn't look back. Not even once.

Ending #2

**Author's Note:**

> There was no third ending, as no matter how the story were to go, the main character (the undead knight that slays them) will always triumph, regardless of how he is killed. But there did need to be two, depending on which one died first.


End file.
